


Catbread United

by der_tanzer



Series: Catbread [3]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretty much what it sounds like, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catbread United

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Odd and the Catbread fen.  
> 

Nick climbed down the outside of the cockpit looking even more tan than before, if that was possible. He was laughing at something one of them had said in the air, some private joke that Murray would never hear, and for the first time since he'd met them, he wasn't jealous. For the first time, he had somewhere to be. Someone waiting for _him_ and no one else.

"You look like you had a good time," he said, leaning against the fuselage of the chopper while Nick dragged the cargo door open. Cody hopped out, smiling brightly, in time to hear the words.

"It was great. Sun, sand—they have some wicked volleyball players down there. Kind of short, but feisty," he said and Nick kicked him. "That is, until it started raining. After that it was just boring."

"I checked the weather reports, guys. It hasn't rained there in weeks."

"You checked—" Nick said and Cody sighed.

"Of course he did. _Rain_? You're lying to _Murray_ and the best you could come up with was _rain_? Asshole."

"Well, I didn't hear you suggesting anything better. Look, Murray, I'm sorry I lied, but we were worried. You haven't been answering the phone or returning our calls and then you said you were hanging out with Quinlan…"

"And you ran home to rescue me. That's sweet, Nick. Really."

The guys exchanged a glance and turned back to Murray in unison. Was that sarcasm? Or was it more bitterness? What the hell had happened to Murray while they were gone?

"Well," Cody said slowly, "do you need rescuing?"

"No. It's just what I told you. He got hurt and he needs some help. We've just been hanging out, watching TV—did you know he's a Cubs fan, too?"

"So it's not—weird? He's not trying to get you into some undercover operation?"

"Yeah, or a timeshare investment in the Poconos?" Nick put in.

"No, nothing weird." Of course weird was a relative term, and one that he knew his friends would probably apply, but then some of the things they did seemed more than a little weird to him. He would bring that up if he had to. "But I do have to hurry if I'm going to get there by lunchtime."

"You're the one doing all the work, Boz," Cody said carelessly. "He can't be too demanding, can he?"

"I offered," Murray said quietly. "I can't offer and then not show up." He picked up a duffle bag and walked back to the Jimmy, leaving his friends to follow in confused silence.

***

Back at the boat, their confusion was doubled when Murray asked to borrow the Jimmy and then disappeared at once.

"Look at this place," Cody said, dropping his bags in the salon. "Has he even been home this week?"

"Not for a couple days, I'd say. What's that smell?"

"It's coming from the galley. There'd better not be another mold experiment going on down there."

Nick went forth bravely to check the fridge and reported back.

"There is, but I don't think it's deliberate. Look, let's not get upset about this just yet. You know how Murray is. The guy would nurse a rabid dog after it bit him. He's just doing what he thinks is right. When Quinlan gets over whatever's wrong with him, Murray'll come home and things will get back to normal."

"I guess," Cody said doubtfully. "Why don't you start unpacking and I'll clean this place up some."

"What do you want to bet Quinlan's place is spic and span?" Nick laughed, already starting to sort their clothes for washing.

"I wonder what it's like," Cody mused. "You know, we don't even know where Quinlan lives."

"Yeah, that's right. Wouldn't it be weird if they ended up friends? We'd have to start being nice to Quinlan."

"Hey, I'm nice to him."

"You broke his nose."

"You stole his girl. And you didn't even want her."

"That's right," Nick grinned, stepping over to hug him. "I only want you. But she was too good for him. Someone had to do something."

"You're always a gentleman, Ryder."

***

In a small ceramic cat intensive apartment across town, Murray Bozinsky was frying hamburgers while King Harbor's least liked police lieutenant put condiments on buns. Murray asked for mayonnaise, but Quinlan said no, because this was America and Americans didn't put mayo on their burgers. Murray shrugged and said relish, then. He'd given up trying to make Quinlan sit still, resigned to looking after him when his foot didn't heal properly, and not that upset about it. At least he wasn't a cranky patient. And if he did complain Murray knew how to shut him up.

"What are you smiling at, Bozinsky?"

"Nothing. I'm just a smiler, I guess." He flipped the burgers and pushed his glasses up in almost the same gesture. If he had looked around just then, he would have seen Quinlan smiling back at him, amazed as always by the unconscious grace Murray showed when he thought no one was watching. When there was nothing making him self-conscious he could move as easily as anyone else. But he didn't know that and wouldn't have believed it if told.

"You about done there, smiler? Movie's starting in a minute."

"Yes, almost. Go sit down. I'll be right there."

Quinlan decided he'd proven enough and went to the living room, giving Murray an affectionate slap on the ass as he passed. Murray stood still for a moment, enjoying the feeling of belonging, of being wanted. Then he heard the TV come on and hurried to finish up the food. He put the burgers on the prepared buns and dipped fries out of the Fry Daddy onto a paper towel covered plate. It only took a few seconds to pat the grease off and divide them between the two plates, and he only burned his fingers a little. Tucking a bottle of ketchup under his arm, he got to the living room just in time for the start of the movie. Quinlan took his plate with a distracted thank you, already absorbed in the film.

Of the three so-called spaghetti westerns this was easily his favorite. Murray slipped his shoes off and put his feet up, lost in the friendly silence. When Quinlan offered him a beer he took it with the same distracted thanks. They shared the ketchup back and forth until the fries were gone, slouching deeper and deeper into the sofa as the afternoon wore on, neither speaking, or feeling the need.

By the end of the second movie, Murray's restless night had caught up to him and he was falling asleep. Quinlan's hand on his thigh brought him back to himself with a start and he was ashamed.

"Get over it, Bozinsky. If you're tired go to bed."

"But _The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly_ is up next."

"There's a set in the bedroom. And if you fall asleep—well, it'll always be on again."

Murray shrugged and got up, unable to hold back a yawn. Quinlan snapped off the TV and followed him into the other room. Murray undressed with no trace of self-consciousness in spite of being watched and got into bed in his boxers. When Quinlan joined him, he wasn't surprised. They watched the movie on the small black and white set, Murray drifting in and out with the older man's arm around his shoulders holding him loosely as he dozed. He was dimly aware when Quinlan took his glasses off of him but he didn't care. There was nothing here to be afraid of and he'd long since lost the thread of the film.

When he woke for real the movies were over and the phone was ringing. Quinlan was still beside him, reaching for it awkwardly with his sore arm. Murray leaned over him, getting a quick biting kiss on the chest for his trouble, and snagged the receiver. Quinlan took it from him and said hello none too pleasantly. He listened for a moment, then handed it to Murray.

"It's for you."

"For me?" he whispered, puzzled. Then it sank in and he took the phone, twisting his body so the cord didn't cut across Quinlan's neck. "Hello? Oh, hi Nick. No, everything's fine. We're just watching TV. I think I'm going to stay a little longer and make sure he has some supper. No, I won't be late. Yes, I'm sure. Uh-huh. 'Bye, Nick." He hung up, looking vaguely ashamed, and fell back on the pillow with a sigh.

"Sounds like you managed not to lie, at least," Quinlan said wryly.

"I think so. The TV's still on. But I am going to have to lie eventually. Or tell the truth. Unless…"

"I'm not going to run away with you to Mexico."

Murray laughed, blushing in a way that made Quinlan suddenly want him very badly.

"Well come on, Bozinsky. Unless what?"

"Nothing. I was assuming that you'd want to keep seeing me and I just realized that I don't really have the right to assume anything. It's not like—well, I don't really know what it is like. I'm a little bit lost here."

"It's simple, Bozinsky. I like having you around and you like being around."

"Yeah, I guess so. I could always tell them that. But considering our history I don't think they'll believe it."

"So tell them I'm fucking you. It's not like they have any room to talk."

Murray blushed hotter at the frank words and felt himself growing hard. Quinlan rose up on his elbow and kissed him in a way that promised all kinds of other frank things. For a moment Murray tried to think, asking himself what _fucking_ meant in this context, what was really going to happen and what he _wanted _to happen; to say nothing of what might have been a threat against his friends. Did he mean if Murray didn't go along the guys would be outed? But Quinlan wouldn't do that. Maybe the old Quinlan, but this man was his friend. The tongue in his mouth convinced him of that.

He let the older man kiss him and take off his shorts, shivering pleasantly under his touch. His eyes were open but mostly unseeing, passively accepting his lover's questing touch. Saying _no_ when asked if he'd ever really had a man before and trembling when told that he was going to now. Somewhere in the back of what used to be his mind Murray knew that he could stop this. All he had to do was speak. But he was on wholly new territory now and there was no part of it he didn't want to explore.

When Quinlan turned him over he sighed and ground his erection pleasurably into the mattress. No matter how this went there would be some sort of orgasm for him and there were few enough times in his life that Murray could say that. He moaned softly at the kisses on his shoulders, broke out in a fresh shiver of goosebumps when the heavy hand caressed his back. He'd never given up control so completely during a sexual act, had never stopped trying to be what he thought the other person wanted. This time he didn't know what was wanted and so had no choice other than to be himself. He thought vaguely that this might be the only person to ever really see who he was and still want him.

The hand slid down the curve of his ass, sharp teeth bit gently into his shoulder blade, and he hoped fervently that there would be a mark. Even if he had to explain it later, he didn't care. He wanted to be bitten and bruised all over, to carry this moment for the rest of his life.

His body went limp with disappointment when Quinlan turned away and then the rough, gentle hand returned, slick with K-Y, probing cautiously. Murray's sagging muscles tensed instantly and suddenly the other man was kissing his hip, licking up his ticklish ribs, scattering his thoughts before fear could take hold.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, kid," he whispered. "We'll stop anytime you want, it's okay, but I won't hurt you."

"I know," Murray sighed, forcing himself to relax. He groaned quietly as the thick finger pressed into him, unable to determine if it really felt good or if he just wanted it to. Maybe he wanted love so badly he'd take anything. Or maybe he was thinking too much. Oh, that had to be it. Quinlan touched his prostate lightly, making him flinch, then rubbed it harder and laughed aloud when Murray screamed. His body enveloped in heat, nerves dancing and muscles out of control, Murray stopped thinking about anything except how good it was.

For a long time, sharp teeth and wet tongue traveled up and down his spine while Murray thrust against the bed and back onto the gently curled finger. It felt so good it couldn't possibly get any better and then there was another finger. That hurt just a little, a faint aching burn, and he drew a sharp gasp that stilled the exploring hand. The kisses grew gentler, more tongue and less teeth, and Quinlan added a little more lube. After that it didn't burn so much and Murray's gasp was pure pleasure. He knew what was happening, that he was being stretched in preparation for something more, and wondered dimly how that thick cock would feel compared to the broad fingers. He expected that it would hurt but there would be recompense.

Quinlan sat up and withdrew his hand, smiling at Murray's soft sound of disappointment. Moving slowly, careful not to frighten him, he spread the long legs and knelt between them. Hands on Murray's hips, he guided him into position and leaned over him, pressing the head of his cock against the tight entrance. Murray felt the coolness of fresh gel and was filled with confidence. When Quinlan pushed into him he managed to hold still for a moment and then pressed back. That did hurt and he whimpered quietly, his body instantly tense.

"Don't move," Quinlan said raggedly. "Just—just relax." He let Murray gather himself, then pulled back and pressed forward again.

There was pain. But Murray found he could breathe through it and there was recompense indeed. The warm body on top of him, the strong hand that gripped his, their fingers twined together and, when he finally moved just right, the gentle nudge at his gland that made him writhe and groan.

And then there was his partner's own pleasure, the panting breath on his neck, the low moans that told him he was doing something right even though he hardly moved at all. It was sweeter than he thought such a thing could be, more intimate than any sex he'd ever had before, this merging with a man in mutual friendship and need. When Quinlan reached beneath him and gripped his aching shaft, Murray cried out and bucked hard, thrusting eagerly into that hand that would never hurt him.

"Easy, kid," came a hoarse whisper.

"No, it's good," he gasped. "Oh, god, it's so good."

Those breathless words made the hand squeeze tighter and when the next stroke touched his prostate he came hard, burying his face in the pillow to muffle his screams. Quinlan was undone by the clenching muscles and mindless thrusts, biting the thin shoulder gently as his climax overwhelmed him. He tried to restrain himself, tried not to delve too deeply, but it was too much. That skinny ass was the hottest, tightest, _sweetest_ thing he'd ever known, and even as he collapsed in exhaustion he was thinking about the next time. God, there had to be a next time.

"Murray," he whispered, holding the trembling body gently. "You okay, kid?"

"Yeah, Ted. I'm good."

Quinlan laughed, kissed his bruised shoulder one more time, and rolled off of him with a sigh.

"I'm gettin' old, Bozinsky," he said with a rueful smile. "Ten years ago I'd already be setting up to do that again."

Murray blushed, unable to hold back a laugh of his own.

"I'm flattered, Lieutenant."

"You should be. And you don't have to call me that in bed."

"Maybe I want to. Maybe I like it."

"Whatever makes you happy, kid."

And Murray knew he meant it. The lieutenant, _his Lieutenant_, did want him to be happy. There were possibilities here. He folded his arms on the pillow and rested his cheek on his wrist, turning his head to meet the tired blue eyes.

"You're not that old," he said.

"Too old for you, Bozinsky." He laid his hand on Murray's back, between his shoulder blades where the tension gathered and made him ache. "But that doesn't mean you have to leave right away. I'm not dead yet."

"I'm not going anywhere. I never really thought you liked me but I was wrong, wasn't I? You just don't like being close to people."

"Save your pop psychology for your genius friends," he said harshly, while gently rubbing Murray's back.

"No, no, I'm onto something here. I won you over with my childlike ingenuousness, didn't I?"

"I don't know. I need a fucking dictionary just to talk to you." But there was an odd tenderness in his expression and Murray knew he was right. "Anyway, you better get going. Your friends are gonna wonder where you been all day."

"Yeah, I guess. You're going to work tomorrow, aren't you?"

"Uh-huh. Desk duty until my foot heals up. You should—uh—come by for lunch if you want. I go to _Job's Turkey_ most days."

"Sure, I can do that. If we don't have a case or anything."

"Good. Better get a shower before you go, too. Towels are in the cupboard under the sink."

"You think—"

"Yeah, I think. Those two, they'll _smell_ it on you. You want to be answering questions all night?"

"No, I guess I don't. I'm going to have to tell them eventually, though. I mean, if you want—if we keep—if…"

"I know. Give it a few more days, kid. Make sure you're not gonna change your mind."

"If you say so," he said, not wanting to say that he wasn't going to change his mind if Quinlan wasn't. "I'll just get that shower then."

Quinlan watched him roll out of bed and cross the room naked, admiring his slim body and tight little ass. Too young for him by half. And too smart to boot. But damn it, if no one else wanted him—the lieutenant was too old and too smart to turn down a gift like that.

Murray showered quickly, the water too hot and scrubbing too hard, and then looked at himself in the mirror over the sink. Sure enough there were bite marks on his shoulders, some of them deep enough to bruise. He smiled to himself already thinking about his friends, who might not want to sleep with him but were casual enough about watching him undress.

He pulled his clothes on and went back to the bedroom to ask Quinlan if he wanted him to stay and make supper. But the lieutenant was already asleep. Murray touched his cheek lightly, kissed his high forehead, and whispered goodnight. He turned off the lights, locked the front door, and was whistling a little by the time he got to the car. It really had been a good day.

***

"Jeez, Murray, where have you been?" Nick asked as soon as he stepped into the salon.

"You know where I was. You called and checked up, for heaven's sake." He checked his watch without thinking. Seven-thirty. No reason for them to be concerned.

"You really spent the whole day at Quinlan's?" Cody asked. They were eating in front of the TV watching _Dirty Harry_, as Murray would have been if he hadn't come home.

"You know I did. You checked up, remember?"

Nick and Cody exchanged puzzled glances and Cody tried again.

"Isn't that a little—odd, Boz? How long are you going to keep going over there, anyway?"

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Nick asked. "I thought he couldn't stand you."

Murray felt a knot of something cold in his stomach that turned hot and climbed eagerly up his throat. It was hard not to speak angry words that would give away too much and he choked on it for just a second. Then, very quietly, he said, "Things change, Nick. He's my friend now. He likes having me around and I like spending time with him. It's—it's relaxing."

"You're kidding," Cody said before he could help himself.

"What?"

"Murray, that doesn't make sense. You're friends just like that? We were gone a week and now you want to spend all your time with him? And, by the way, we don't even know where he lives."

"That's not an accident," Murray said, remembering Quinlan's words. He didn't bother pointing out that he'd only been going over there for a couple days.

"What?" This from Nick, low and dangerous.

"Like you even care. You have your own lives, you just need me to do your computer work. Well I'm doing it, so what I do with my free time is none of your business."

"Murray," Cody began, smiling gently, placating.

"No. You weren't here, you don't know. You have each other, you always have, and I—I don't have anyone. You've never cared about that before, why the hell should you start now?"

"Murray, of course we care," Cody said, still placating, but his smile was stiff and brittle.

"Right. Right, sure you do. That's why you're giving me shit instead of asking if I had a good time. If he's being a good friend to me. Because you care so much if I'm happy."

Murray turned and started down to his room. Nick stood and made as if to go after him and Cody held him back. Below decks, a door slammed and the boat was silent.

"What the_ fuck_," Nick said.

"Don't look at me," Cody shrugged. "I got here the same time you did."

"Yeah. But did you notice his hair was wet? Like maybe he just had a shower? I mean, what the fuck is going on here?"

"I don't know, buddy. But yelling isn't going to help anything."

Nick wanted to pace and let Cody hold him instead, soothing him with kisses that almost made him forget the matter at hand. But no, this was important. Murray was hurt, maybe getting himself into trouble, and it might be their fault.

"Do you think he really feels that way? Like we don't care?"

"No," Cody said at once. "He knows better than that. But if Quinlan needs him for something, some hack job or whatever, he might be playing it up. If Murray told him we went away on vacation and left him here alone--then yeah, he could be using that."

"Well we'd better find out. You should go talk to him."

"Me? No way, Nick. I'm just the one he has a crush on. You're the one he trusts."

Nick wanted to argue with that but he couldn't really see how.

"Okay, but you owe me. None of that going to sleep before I come back bullshit."

"Right, no going to sleep. But, Nick, be nice, okay? Don't give him a hard time or he'll just get stubborn."

"Hey, man, you want to do this, be my guest."

Cody held up his hands in surrender and Nick went downstairs alone.

He knocked on Murray's door and received a rather petulant invitation to enter. Murray was at his computer, apparently hard at work, and Nick paused in the doorway.

"Am I interrupting?" he asked and a flicker of uncertainly crossed Murray's face.

"No. I was just looking some stuff up."

"For Quinlan?"

"No." Flat and unequivocal, almost as if the subject were off limits. Nick took a deep breath and tried again.

"Murray, I'm sorry if we were insensitive. About Mexico, I mean. You said you didn't want to go."

"That's what you wanted me to say. It's okay, Nick, really. I know you guys need time alone to do your own thing. I just need that sometimes, too. And Quinlan, he's not so bad. He's kind of lonely and he got hurt and—and no one cared. I saw him at the hospital waiting for a cab—no one even came to drive him home. Cops are supposed to look out for each other, but it's like he's all alone."

"Maybe he wants it that way, Boz."

"Maybe. But he also wants me around. He invited me back, and I didn't have anything else going on, so I went."

"I thought you said you offered."

"Yeah, I offered the second time. It's not a big deal, okay? I can have other friends, can't I?"

"Sure you can. You can have all the friends you want. It's just that Quinlan's never exactly been on our side, you know. I—well, Cody and I, we're wondering what suddenly changed his mind."

"I was nice to him. That's why most people like me, Nick."

"I know, you're a great guy. You're sweet and trusting, and people—well, they take advantage of that sometimes. We just want to make sure he's not trying to get you involved in anything that you maybe shouldn't be involved in."

"What, like crime solving? Hacking computers or going undercover to hunt dangerous people? No, Nick, he hasn't asked me to do any of that." He kept his voice even with no hint of irony or sarcasm, but Nick flinched anyway.

"Murray, we're just trying to look out for you. I know we've put you in dangerous positions before but we were there to watch your back, too. Quinlan, he might not do that. He doesn't love you like we do."

_No_, Murray thought, trying not to smile. _He loves me in a whole different way_.

"I know, Nick. But it's okay. He's not asking me to do anything except cook and watch TV. And now that he's going back to work, probably not much of that, either. Although I did say I'd meet him for lunch tomorrow."

"Are you joking?"

"No, of course not. I told you, he's lonely. He hasn't even had a partner since that guy who turned out to be working with Ricky Brazil. Now, if you don't mind, I have some more work to do before I can go to bed."

"Yeah, sure." But Nick didn't leave. Instead he came closer and laid a gentle hand on Murray's shoulder. "Say, Boz, did you take a shower somewhere before you came home?"

"What? Oh, yes, I—uh—had a little accident in the kitchen. Spilled some soup."

"Oh. Yeah, okay. Goodnight, buddy."

"Goodnight, Nick." He went back to work and didn't look up as Nick left the cabin.

_Soup_, Nick was thinking as he went up to the salon. But there hadn't been any stains on Murray's clothes. So either he was doing laundry there, or he was lying about why he needed a shower. Nick thought about asking Cody his opinion and then didn't. Maybe there were some things they didn't really need to know.


End file.
